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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594750">Ghosts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownToTheSea/pseuds/DownToTheSea'>DownToTheSea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guns of the Dawn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of War/PTSD, Post-Canon, Secret Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownToTheSea/pseuds/DownToTheSea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after the war is over, Emily and those she loves are threatened by remnants of the conflict.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emily Marshwic/Cristan Northway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/gifts">partypaprika</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tendrils of mist curled around Emily, forming a fog so heavy she could hardly see beyond the length of an outstretched arm. It stung her eyes as she walked through it, its sharp, cold pang reminding her that winter was near. Perhaps this year it would seem a welcome change from the blistering heat she’d been trapped in not so long ago. Then again, perhaps being stuck inside with Alice would drive her mad. She supposed she would find out soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ascending a steep hill, she finally emerged from the fog. If she turned around, she could see the dim outline of Chalcaster beneath her, veiled in more fog. Mary was down there somewhere, doing the weekly shopping. That morning had started out poorly for Emily; the walls had felt too close, and offering to come with Mary to get out of the house seemed like a good idea. But once she was in town, she realized it was a mistake. She was still attracting stares and whispers, and the occasional awed look, and her skin itched under the attention of the townsfolk. She had muttered an excuse and hurried out of the grocer’s almost before Mary could notice she was leaving. Her usual refuge was closed to her – it would never do for Mary to see her fleeing there – so she had hurried out of town at a pace she hoped would be taken for a brisk walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now that she was alone, her head did feel clearer, and she took a deep breath of air despite the chill. To her right was a weathered wrought-iron fence with an arched gate. Beyond, the fog had set in again, but she could see upright grey stones dotted here and there amongst the dying grass. Headstones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could dwell too much on the irony of finding comfort in a graveyard, a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>snap </span>
  </em>
  <span>pierced the air off to her left. She whipped around, pulse already pounding. While there were only a few wisps of fog at the top of the hill, there were enough trees on the far side of the road from the cemetery that she couldn’t see very far. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the forest, when she heard the gate squeak open behind her and whirled again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do confess to a certain sense of relief at seeing you there, Miss Marshwic,” said Cristan Northway, “as you seem the least likely person in town to utilize our close proximity to freshly dug graves in a way that I might find unpleasant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Relief washed over her, though it muddled with her tension, leaving her still unsettled. She threw a glance behind her at where she’d heard the noise, as Northway latched the gate behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing up here?” she asked by way of greeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Land dispute,” he said, pointing behind him. “Apparently, some years ago, it was settled that the boundary line of the properties behind this graveyard would be denoted by the exact center of said graveyard. Unfortunately the wise person or persons who devised this method did not think to account for the graveyard’s expansion over time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But surely the difference must be minimal,” Emily said, tilting her head as she mapped out the area in her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In my time as a public servant, I have learned never to underestimate the strength of human pettiness.” He didn’t ask her what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>was doing there. Over the last few months, he had become accustomed to seeing her cropping up in strange places; she had told him enough about the restlessness in her blood that he understood enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead he said, “Are you going in, or back to town?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will be walking back, myself,” he said, something almost tentative in his voice. “If you would care for some company on the return journey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How Emily wanted just that. “Mary will be waiting for me,” she replied with a shake of her head. If her sister saw them together, then the careful distance Emily had maintained between her family and Northway would be for nothing; her secret would be out. Someday, perhaps, she would be able to manage that. But not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” he said. “Well then, good afternoon, Emily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cristan,” she said, and he turned back with a glimmer in his eyes. “Stay a moment, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said nothing, only returned to her side. Still staring at the graveyard beyond, she took his hand. Sometimes it seemed as though she were neither dead nor entirely alive: a stranger to her own existence. It was at those times, like today, that she looked for something to ground her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pressed his cold fingers in between both of her hands, and found it. Next to her, he exhaled softly, and set his other hand on top of hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe I saw a somewhat comfortable-looking log over there. Not quite a match for my office chairs, of course, but needs must.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A faint smile tugged at her lips. She might have taken him up on his offer, if a bullet hadn’t pinged off the metal bars of the gate behind them at that moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For once she hadn’t been concerned about being watched; as eerie as the fog was, in some ways it felt like they were in an entirely different world above it on top of the hill, far away from the most prying of eyes. And she hadn’t seen anyone else on the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shouldn’t have let her guard down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as she registered the rifle shot, she was galvanized into action; she shoved Northway away, yanking the gate open and dragging him through. Another shot went whistling past her ear as she pulled them both down behind a gravestone, her pistol in her hand though she didn’t remember taking it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Northway looked as cool as ever outwardly, but his hand clutched hers, white-knuckled. She ducked away as more bullets struck the gravestone, sending chips of rock flying. Whoever was firing at them, they had one of the new repeating rifles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Even if Emily hadn’t reclaimed her own peace, the world had. Weapons of war didn’t belong in her Chalcaster. Part of her was bewildered; the other part had frozen in denial, and it was all she could do to keep herself from faltering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For Cristan, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminded herself. She had to protect him, if nothing else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spared another glance at him, and went cold. One hand still wound through hers, but his other hand was pressed to his neck, blood leaking through his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The battlefield flashed into her mind; soldiers with holes blown through their throats, choking to death on their own blood. She stared at Cristan in mounting horror, her muscles locked up. All thoughts of cover and return fire had vanished. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>One of the only things she had managed to wrest for herself out of life after the war. Her safe harbor, as strange and sometimes disconcerting as it was. He couldn’t…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he took his hand away, wiping his knuckles against his throat, and most of the blood came off onto them, leaving only a shallow wound behind. Her breath released, leaving her shaky. It was just a scratch. Probably caused by one of the dislodged stone chips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoever it is, no doubt you are their target,” she said, the tremors in her hands belying her steady tone. She peered over the gravestone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No doubt,” Cristan agreed, with a fraction less cheerful acceptance of his own unpopularity than usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In that case, it’s likely that they will not shoot at me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes widened, but before he could say anything she stood up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emily!” Cristan hissed, futilely attempting to pull her back down with the hand still grasping hers. “There’s no need for heroics, we can simply wait for the fog to come in up here and – ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay here,” she ordered, and strode off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was smart enough not to call out her name any louder than he already had, but to her shock, he actually leaned out from behind the gravestone. For him, that was the equivalent of charging headfirst into an entire battalion. It was probably the closest he would ever come to bravery, and flattering, in its way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no more shots as Emily slipped out the gate and headed into the nearby thicket. It was possible her theory about Northway being the target was correct; it was also possible their attacker was simply out of ammunition. She held her pistol at the ready, waiting for the opportune moment to spend her fire. It was as still as death. She kept behind cover as much as she could, though it did little to reassure her, since she had no clear idea where her enemy was. There was another sound from her right, and she spun around, but it was only a rabbit hopping across the dead fallen leaves. She exhaled hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was over as quickly as it began. A whisper of a sound behind her; instinct took over and she whirled around, letting off a shot just as pain seared through her. She only caught a glimpse of her attacker, a young man with waxy blonde hair,  before he fell, her rapid-fire aim deadly and true. Her legs wobbled and she stumbled back before collapsing against a tree, her hand going to her side and coming away slick with blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she told herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get up.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But her head was spinning, and she was so, so tired. Her eyes closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emily,” she heard after an indeterminate period of time. She knew the voice, though its owner sounded notably less sardonic and more panicked than usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cristan,” she murmured. “I did not expect you to run headlong into danger after me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your razor-sharp assessment of my character never fails to delight, my dear Miss Marshwic. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>wait until the gunfire was well over. Emily.” His voice trembled. “Please open your eyes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did, though it was a struggle. Her gaze flicked beyond his shoulder, where the man who had tried to kill them still lay. “Is he dead?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Northway, blunt and not particularly regretful. Emily sighed. He might have been trying to kill her, but still she didn’t relish the violent end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had hoped… I did not shoot to kill,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” His tone softened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With his hand as leverage, she managed to pull herself up. Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she started forward and they began the trek back to town.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was odd; she had a thousand other problems, not least the motivations of their mysterious attacker, but all she could fixate on was how poorly Mary was liable to react when she saw her sister limping into town covered in blood and leaning on her mortal enemy. She voiced this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To hell with Mary,” he said curtly, which made her snort with laughter and then regret it as it caused a spasm of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s more likely to send you to hell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is welcome to do so, if she will be good enough to wait until I have seen you to the doctor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, Mary didn’t find her until she was already with the doctor. She burst in with her usually calm demeanor shattered, spilling out questions faster than Emily could answer them. A single glare from her sister sent Northway stepping back, though not so far as he could have. No doubt her sister thought he was hovering nearby to discomfit them both. Emily, who knew the truth, ached at the loss of his fingers laced through hers, and when she unsteadily rose to leave, helped by Mary and the doctor, all she managed was a swift glance back at his stricken face before the door closed on them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mr. Northway is here to see you, ma'am," Poldry announced several days later as they were all sitting in the parlor. Emily's head snapped up, as did Mary's and Alice's: all, she suspected, for vastly different reasons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can he not leave us alone for the space of three days together?" Alice grumbled. Unjustly, since Northway hadn't so much as darkened their door for several months.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the sake of civility, Mary ordered him shown in, with a weary look. Once inside, Northway made no move towards them; he stood in the door, took off his hat and bowed slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mrs. Salander," he greeted. "And the Miss Marshwics." His gaze lingered on Emily. "I am glad to see you looking well after your recent ordeal." He kept his voice at the expected oily tone, but his eyes burned into hers, hungry with emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Snake," Alice murmured, audibly. Emily closed her eyes and wished for strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It is precisely that which brings me here today," he continued, ignoring her sister. "I know I am not overly welcome in this house, but I believed you would like to hear the news I have concerning your would-be assassin."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emily leaned forward. "Who was he?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one offered him a seat. He moved further into the room, circling closer to Emily. Tension crackled in the air between them, the magnetic pull towards each other, and she wondered that her sisters couldn’t feel it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It appears not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>who fought against you in the war holds you in unimpeachable awe. I handed him over to the Denland officials to identify, and after some badgering on my part they deigned to inform me he served at Levant." He glanced at Emily, dark eyes full of all he could not say in front of her sisters. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sorry you can't escape this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"They refused to tell me any more; I am sorry. But from that I think we can safely deduce that he held your actions in wartime against you, and sought revenge."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emily sighed, leaning back. She should have been more surprised, but she had wondered in the last few days if something like this was at play, since the man had seemed more concerned about killing her than Northway after all. "I can hardly blame him," she murmured, too quietly for anyone but him to hear. Northway flinched and opened his mouth before recollecting they weren't alone. He closed it, swallowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is there any cause to believe he was acting in concert with others?" she inquired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. "None. You should have nothing to fear on that score. I was quite persistent on the point."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, we all know just how persistent you can be," Mary said, her mild voice turned cutting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sometimes you are very like your sister, Mrs. Salander," he said, obstinately refusing to take offense, and bowed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Emily didn't do something, this would devolve into a brawl of words. Besides, she needed to talk to Cristan alone. "Mr. Northway," she interrupted. "I'm sure you are too busy to spare us any more of your valuable time. Allow me to walk you to the gate."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why, Miss Marshwic, a more sensitive man might think you wished to be rid of me." Northway inclined his head to her sisters. "Good day to you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them answered, and Emily stood and walked him out of the door in dead silence. As soon as they cleared the threshold, they simultaneously slowed their pace to a snail's crawl. The road might be only a moment's walk away, but Emily was going to increase that time tenfold if she had her way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Emily," he whispered, getting a word in before she could. "How are you faring?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her first instinct was to say “I’m fine,” but she caught herself. This was Cristan, and she couldn’t lie to him. "As well as can be expected.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared past him, over the rolling green hills of her homeland, seeing none of it. "Every time I think it may finally be over, it comes back to haunt me. Us. Will I ever be entirely free, I wonder?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped even pretending to walk. "You will be," he said firmly. "Emily, you are the strongest, most remarkable person of my acquaintance. If anyone can find your way through, it is you. Though I– I would wish you did not have to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled faintly at him. His words turned slowly through her mind; she had no answer for him yet, but the words themselves were something to hold onto. "Thank you for looking into this. And I am sorry I could not get a message to you that I was all right."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waved a hand. "Your sisters are a more effective censorial body than any government I have ever seen," he said drily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did laugh at that. "They are. And they are safe now." It was more than half to convince herself that she said it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes," said Cristan. "And so am I. A matter of great relief to myself, I can assure you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Undoubtedly," she agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And you are safe too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he obviously wanted to say, but held back. They reached his carriage, and he climbed inside. “I hope I will see you in town soon, Miss Marshwic.” He lifted his hand in farewell, and the carriage clattered off down the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emily didn’t stay to watch him leave. Turning, with her shoulders set, she walked back into the house.</span>
</p>
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